


To be known

by Lilibet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, because they're both as stupid and blind as the other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilibet/pseuds/Lilibet
Summary: Qui-Gon’s standing by the window, looking out at the clear sky speckled with flickering stars.Obi-Wan watches him from the doorway across the room, a spectre as silent as the clouds passing by the window outside. The midnight air in the palace is cool against his skin and he wraps his arms around himself, a balm against both the air and for what’s about to come.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56
Collections: Backwards QuiObi Bang





	To be known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Q111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q111/gifts).



> For the reverse Big Bang on the Quiobi discord and inspired by [Q1's](https://q1qqq.tumblr.com) amazing art!

Obi-Wan thinks this might have been a mistake.

Just a small one, easily remedied. Maybe.

Okay who is he kidding, he’s majorly fucked up.

He thought it was a good idea at the time, as everything always seems to be, but then Qui-Gon hasn’t had this kind of reaction before, so Obi-Wan’s at a loss.

It had started out innocent enough, a game almost, to tease Qui-Gon. Innuendos disguised behind innocent smiles and doe eyes, a face that no one but his master is able to read so easily.

Then, it was brief unnecessary touches; the brush of a hand across Qui-Gon’s shoulders, his fingertips catching the back of Qui-Gon’s neck while he sits reading on the sofa in their quarters, or a hand on his knee under the table laughing at a joke, brushing his ankle up the inside of his leg under the guise of crossing his own.

Qui-Gon barely reacts most of the time, and to anyone else he looks his usual composed self, but Obi-Wan can see the subtle straightening of his spine, the slight shift in his seat, the twitch of muscle in his jaw. He’s learnt to read the lines and contours of Qui-Gon like his favourite book, simply watching him for hours on end.

He relishes the looks he provokes from Qui-Gon, the intent hidden behind the guise of a reprimand. The slight change of tone in his voice, deeper and more commanding that makes Obi-Wan’s mouth water and the hairs rise in anticipation on the back of his neck.

Nothing has come of this, of course, they’re still master and padawan. But the subtle changes to Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship have been making themselves known the closer his Knighthood beckons. The lingering looks and sudden shutdowns of the bond for no discernible reason, but that always seem to coincide with one of them bending over or when in the middle of a particularly brutal spar.

It’s no secret that Obi-Wan wants his master as more than just his master. At least, no secret to _him_ anyway. He’s long come to terms with his traitorous feelings, although it’s taken him a number of years and far more meditations than he cares to admit.

But he’s slowly become comfortable with the fact that these feelings for Qui-Gon are as much a part of him as his mind or his heart. He’s also fairly certain Qui-Gon reciprocates, and he’s come to terms with what that will mean for the both of them as well.

But now, he isn’t so sure.

He’d been doing the usual teasing and flirting, although Obi-Wan has to admit to himself with no small amount of shame that it probably hadn’t been a great idea to start it in the middle of delicate negotiations.

Nothing had changed, just the usual completely unsubtle innuendos and brushes of hands and ankles that he usually did. But over the course of their weeks here, Qui-Gon had started reacting more and more.

And it had made him curious. Which is a dangerous thing in the presence of one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon never really reacts more than a slight change in his posture or a small eye twitch, but this was different, and Obi-Wan couldn’t put his finger on why. He didn’t understand what had changed between then and now.

So naturally he’d decided to ramp it up, which, in hindsight, was probably the worst idea he could’ve come up with. Or the best, depending on how this turned out.

On this particular night, negotiations had run late into the evening, the sun long having dipped below the horizon, and Obi-Wan had gotten bored with the circular arguments.

Across the table from Qui-Gon, he’d been subtly rubbing his ankle up the inside of Qui-Gon’s leg all night. Slowly dragging the tip of his boot up his shin to his knee, circling the joint and then slowly dragging it back down in a continuous cycle of maddeningly soft touches that he was sure were driving Qui-Gon mad (if the ruthless closure of their bond had been any indication).

However other than a slight pursing of his lips, Qui-Gon hadn’t moved an inch.

To Obi-Wan, that was practically an invitation.

So on his next trail up, on Qui-Gon’s calf this time, he pushes his foot between Qui-Gon’s thighs, splaying those sinfully long legs apart until he nudges his crotch with the very tip of his boot. Obi-Wan has never done anything as brazen as this before, preferring subtlety over overtness, and even though the move is decidedly tame, he still finds his heart hammering in his chest and a heat rising to his cheeks while he awaits Qui-Gon’s reaction.

And apparently that’s the stick that breaks the camel’s back for Qui-Gon, because he flinches like he’s been electrocuted and stands up, his chair scraping along the marble floor with a horrible screech that immediately grabs everyone’s attention.

He bites out an apology through gritted teeth, professing that he doesn’t feel well, and that it’s probably best if everyone retires to return refreshed and clear-headed the next morning.

Their hosts acquiesce and file out of the room.

Leaving only the two of them. Alone.

Obi-Wan swallows as he looks at his master. Stiff and straight-backed as he stares at a point just above Obi-Wan’s head.

Yeah, he’s really fucked up now.

“Do you have,” Qui-Gon begins, “any idea what you have been doing, Obi-Wan.”

His voice is hard as durasteel and suddenly Obi-Wan feels like his 13-year old self again as he resists the temptation to curl in on himself.

“I... don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I said no?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes snap to his, so fiery and intense that Obi-Wan only just barely manages to suppress his flinch. His master’s shields are tight against his mind when Obi-Wan tentatively pokes at their bond, trying to discern the roiling mess of jumbled signals that are haphazardly zinging down it.

When Qui-Gon’s shields are up, they’re up and there’s nothing anyone can do to make even the smallest crack in them. So the fact that Qui-Gon’s emotions are _leaking through them_ , immediately puts Obi-Wan on edge. He’s never felt Qui-Gon like this before, the exact opposite of the serenity he always reaches for, and he has no idea what to do.

But he figures honesty is the best bet.

He holds Qui-Gon’s gaze for only a few moments before he drops his eyes to the table, bowing his head.

“I apologise master, my behaviour has been unprofessional lately,” his voice is small even to his own ears and he feels his shoulders start to curve inwards at Qui-Gon’s penetrating gaze, “I don’t have any excuse for it.”

The silence is deafening.

After a few agonising moments, Obi-Wan shifts in his seat and tentatively looks up at Qui-Gon. Their gazes lock for a second before, to his astonishment, Qui-Gon’s shoulders slump and he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Obi-Wan has no idea what to do or stay, still woefully lost about the whole situation, so he stays quiet.

Then, to his utter astonishment, Qui-Gon turns and quietly leaves the room, leaving Obi-Wan staring slack-jawed at the door.

\--

Obi-Wan waits in the room for half an hour. Was this a test? Had Qui-Gon disappeared to retrieve something? But when he doesn’t return and the sky outside only continues to darken with the oncoming night, Obi-Wan stands up and leaves the room as well.

Apprehension nips at his heels and instead of returning straight to their shared chambers, his feet take him winding through the palace in a way he refuses to admit is out of cowardice.

He hasn’t had much time to explore the building or the local area as much as he usually likes to, beyond the scant corridors and glimpses of gardens on his way to and from his and Qui-Gon’s chambers and the negotiating table, and he thinks now is a good a time as any.

The leaders of this world are intent on joining the Republic, but that’s about where their shared goals begin and end, for every other topic of debate has at least three prime ministers objecting and demanding a change to a tariff, or recompense for loss of land, or a decrease in tax.

Now in the third week with hardly any headway made beyond ringing ears from the incessant arguing, Obi-Wan’s begun to feel the strain. Qui-Gon has too, his fingers rhythmically tensing on top of the table each time one of them interrupts.

Further down the path on his exploration, Obi-Wan stumbles across a beautiful secluded garden. It’s full of rich blooms of wildflowers and trees of all species, bark cracked and old as their branches twine together and stretch up to the sky with thin fingers. The lush green and orange leaves rustle in the evening breeze and Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

Surprisingly, the living force comes to him easily, wrapping around him like a warm cloak and guiding him into its soothing embrace. The unifying force is his forte, and he often finds it difficult to connect with the nature of the different planets they visit compared to the effortless way Qui-Gon does, even despite his patient tutoring.

Obi-Wan feels a smile tug at his lips at the image of his master sitting in various gardens, meadows, and on top of mountains over their years together. Eyes closed, a small smile on his lips as though just for Obi-Wan as he leisurely sinks himself into the living force, opening himself up to it so it can wrap around him and ground him into the present moment.

It’s an image he’ll cherish, and sorely miss, once his apprenticeship is over.

Obi-Wan focuses on that image and sinks further, deeper into the living force than he’s ever managed before. And when he opens his eyes it’s like a sheer veil has been laid over the image before him.

Or rather, removed.

Wisps of light in a kaleidoscope of colours he’s never seen before coil and dance through the garden, connecting leaf to branch and flower to root, even to the fireflies twirling through the air, trailing after them to leave luminous spirals in their wake.

It’s like a spider’s web connecting everything, as though life is a tapestry weaved together by the guiding hand of the force, a harmonious rhythm only glimpsed by those with the will to see it.

He’s utterly mesmerised, eyes tracking every wisp and strand. The display like nothing he’s ever seen before. Nothing he’s ever imagined.

When he looks down at himself, he finds threads of the mysterious light looping around him too, coiling between his fingers and wrapping around his arms to twist down his legs into the soft soil underneath his feet.

On a whim, he swiftly discards his boots and digs his toes into the soil, watching in awe as the light around him grows brighter. As though happy with the extra connection.

He barks out a laugh as he suddenly realises why Qui-Gon always so swiftly strips out of his clothing when surrounded by nature.

Hypnotised, he wanders around the garden, gently stroking leaves and smelling flowers as he drinks in the horde of sights and smells unbeknownst to him before.

A pang of disappointment blooms in his stomach when the light begins to fade and dissipate. He knows it’s still there of course, veiled, but he still feels a keen sense of loss as the dullness of the night creeps back in.

\--

When Obi-Wan eventually finds himself outside of his and Qui-Gon’s shared chambers, he stands dumbly outside the door, boots in one hand, the other hovering over the handle. He scolds himself for his hesitation and takes a fortifying breath.

The room is empty.

He rolls his eyes and drops his boots onto the floor. Of course Qui-Gon isn’t actually where he should be.

There’s no sign he’s even returned to their room, and Obi-Wan frowns. If there’s anywhere he’d expect Qui-Gon to go it would be the garden he’s just come from. Although he supposes there are many other gardens dotted throughout the palace of which he can choose from. Especially if he’s intent on avoiding Obi-Wan.

Stripping to climb into bed, Obi-Wan scolds himself for his inability to recognise Qui-Gon’s reactions for what they are. It’s clear he’s made Qui-Gon uncomfortable, that he’s projected his own wants and desires onto Qui-Gon and deluded himself into thinking his master desires him in the way Obi-Wan does.

His fingers fiddle with the corner of the bedcovers. Maybe he should go find him, apologise for his behaviour. He’s a senior padawan, he should know better than to act in this way.

Then again, Qui-Gon has all but disappeared. Clearly, he wishes to be alone. No doubt contemplating how to gently let Obi-Wan down.

He’ll sleep then.

An hour passes, filled with exactly no sleep and Obi-Wan tossing and turning in bed.

Qui-Gon still doesn’t return.

The unusual silence of the room feels accusing, urging him on until eventually he throws back the covers and slips his feet into the slippers provided by their hosts.

He silently slips through the zigzagging corridors of the palace, following the subtle pushes and pulls of the force until he finds Qui-Gon.

The room he’s in is practically empty, save for a few pieces of unused furniture covered in fabric to protect them from dust. A storage room, it seems. Obi-Wan wants to smack himself because Qui-Gon found this room early on in their stay and has taken to using it as a place to think away from the usual hustle and bustle of the palace.

Even their room, situated in the guest wing, isn’t silent. The footsteps of maids and service people passing back and forth outside their room, gardeners pruning the brushes in the courtyard below their balcony, other guests milling about and chatting together in the warm late evening.

It seems obvious now, that he’d retreat here.

Qui-Gon’s standing by the window, looking out at the clear sky speckled with flickering stars.

Obi-Wan watches him from the doorway across the room, a spectre as silent as the clouds passing by the window outside. The midnight air in the palace is cool against his skin and he wraps his arms around himself, a balm against both the air and for what’s about to come.

Looking at Qui-Gon now, his broad shoulders silhouetted beautifully against the backdrop, he doesn’t look tired. But Obi-Wan has known him long enough to see the air of weariness resting on him like a cloak, his shoulders slightly slumped and curved inwards as if to try and make himself smaller.

They say the small hours of the night are the most honest, where people let their guard down and their inhibitions go, but Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like words will come any easier.

He moves beside Qui-Gon.

When Qui-Gon doesn’t move to acknowledge him, Obi-Wan resists the urge to fiddle with his braid as they stand side by side watching the night sky.

They breathe together for long minutes until Qui-Gon shifts and sighs, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“Obi-Wan...,”

Qui-Gon’s voice breaks the silence in a quiet murmur and Obi-Wan can’t hold it in any longer.

“Master, I’m so sorry –“

“I must apologise –“

“I know you don’t –“

“my inappropriate feelings have –“

“feel for me the way I do for you –“

“clouded my judgement –“

“and you don’t have to make excuses –“

They both stop at the same time and stare at each other. Obi-Wan’s mind is spinning as Qui-Gon’s words register.

The longer they stare at each other the more Obi-Wan can feel the tension rising in the room, stretching on and on until it’s like a rubber band ready to snap. Qui-Gon’s looking at him like he’s never seen him before, a kernel of something creeping into his eyes that Obi-Wan doesn’t dare to hope.

He looks away, unable to hold the eye contact any longer, the intensity of his gaze making his skin tingle in a not entirely unpleasant way. His eyes snag on the clouds floating outside the window, huge and fluffy, and he watches them serenely float past, wishing he could borrow some of that calm to stop his heart hammering in his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Qui-Gon still staring at him. It isn’t until he begins to feel lightheaded that he realises he’s holding his breath in anticipation. He lets it out in one long, slow breath, grasping at something, anything, to balance him.

The touch from Qui-Gon is so unexpected he freezes when he feels fingers slide around the top of his braid and smooth down it. He feels more than sees Qui-Gon edge closer and undo the tie at the end, undoing the strands and removing the beads until the summary of his apprenticeship is resting in his master’s palm. The clouds outside look wispier now, in a way that Obi-Wan feels mirrors his current state.

Qui-Gon begins to rebraid the strands, weaving in the beads and Obi-Wan slowly begins to feel calmer as Qui-Gon continues, until he ties off the end, and Obi-Wan finally feels the serenity he’s been grasping for.

Qui-Gon holds the end of the braid in his fingers, slowly stroking his thumb over the soft tuft of hair.

“Do you remember Avit V?” Qui-Gon questions, voice low as if he’s afraid to disturb the delicate balance in the room.

Obi-Wan frowns. Avit V? It was several years ago now, and Obi-Wan wonders at the sudden tangent. It had been an extended mission involving no fewer than three assassination attempts, a masquerade ball, a chase through the collapsing ruins of an ancient maze, and, the most memorable part, a trip deep underground to the planet’s archives. A beautiful circular chamber that descended into complete darkness, full of thousands of scrolls from hundreds to thousands of years old that detailed the history of the natives. They’d been painstakingly recorded and kept by scholars and guarded by devout sentinels who’d given up their lives to remain underground to watch over and protect the ancient parchments.

Obi-Wan wracks his brain for anything that can explain why Qui-Gon’s brought up that particular mission, but nothing stands out to him.

Qui-Gon carries on regardless.

“It was when I realised something. Something which I’d refused to acknowledge for some time.”

Obi-Wan gently turns his head to look at Qui-Gon, careful not to tug his braid out of Qui-Gon’s grip. Obi-Wan tracks his gaze across his face. The kind eyes, locked on the fingers still stroking Obi-Wan’s braid, the crow’s feet that Obi-Wan wants to smooth over with his thumb, the strong nose, as proud as his master is stubborn.

Shafts of moonlight shine through the window and he feels breathless at how they fall over Qui-Gon, illuminating the silver strands elegantly weaving through the brown of his hair.

He loves this man with all his heart. This man, who deserves to know the truth of Obi-Wan’s soul, even if the thought makes him want to tremble with vulnerability.

For a few moments, Qui-Gon says nothing and Obi-Wan waits.

Just as Obi-Wan feels as though his heart is about to burst, Qui-Gon looks at him. His eyes are luminous in the moonlight, ethereal, but still the gentle blue they’ve always been as they caress his face.

They’re so close now. He can feel the soft wisps of Qui-Gon’s breath drift over his jaw. If he just leans forward slightly, he’ll be kissing him. The thought shudders through him and he licks his lips. Qui-Gon’s eyes flick down to follow the movement.

“What did you realise?” Obi-Wan whispers.

It feels as though they’re in their own little cocoon away from the world. Nothing outside of this room matters except what’s happening right here, right now. The palace could explode and Obi-Wan wouldn’t notice.

“Who you are,” Qui-Gon answers, voice just as quiet as Obi-Wan’s.

Before Obi-Wan can ask him what he means, he reaches up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek.

“Forgive me, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon strokes his thumb over his cheek and crooks a half smile at him. “You are everything to me. You are more important than this mission, than the order, even my life. There is nothing I would not do for you. And I have betrayed you in the worst fashion by...,”

Qui-Gon pauses, as if considering whether it’s wise to continue, before visibly steeling himself.

“By wanting the forbidden with you.”

He gives a tug on Obi-Wan’s braid before dropping both hands from Obi-Wan’s body. The sudden loss of Qui-Gon’s touch makes him panic and he immediately grabs onto the sleeve of his tunic, afraid he’s going to turn and walk away and Obi-Wan will lose this chance.

“Take it. Take the forbidden, Qui-Gon. You have a place in my heart no one else ever could,”

Out of all the reactions Obi-Wan expects to those words, for Qui-Gon’s eyes to fill with despair is definitely not one of them. He feels lost, floundering about trying to grasp the right words to say to make Qui-Gon understand that for once in his life, he doesn’t care about what the code forbids, or what the council will say. This is the one thing he wants to be selfish about and sith-dammit he isn’t going to let Qui-Gon squander this opportunity because of some misguided sense of duty.

“Obi-Wan...,” Qui-Gon looks like someone’s stolen his favourite plant and Obi-Wan wants to shake him, “We cannot. There is no galaxy in which this can end well.”

“I don’t care!” Obi-Wan shouts. He’s going to knock this into Qui-Gon’s thick skull if it’s the last thing he does. “I don’t want a fairytale ending with you, Qui-Gon. I want _you_. I want to be there to help you face your fears and overcome your failures. I want to love you to the end of the galaxy, to give you the kind of love that’s not distorted and fabricated by greed and deceit, but that’s real, raw and honest.”

He feels breathless with the vehemency of his words and he takes a moment to catch it back, urging Qui-Gon with his eyes to believe what he’s saying.

“And if you don’t believe my words, then just think about that fact that if I didn’t care about you then I wouldn’t get so mad about the things you do and the stupid hair-brained plans you come up with. Because you are the most stubborn and thick-headed bantha that I’ve ever met and you frustrate me to no end, but maker dammit I can’t help but love you!”

Actually saying the words out loud, getting them off his chest and into the air makes Obi-Wan feel lighter than he has in years. He huffs out a laugh at himself and the dumbstruck expression currently gracing Qui-Gon’s face.

Qui-Gon shifts and Obi-Wan belatedly realises how tightly he’s still gripping Qui-Gon’s robe and lets his arm fall away, stretching out his fingers by his side.

Qui-Gon still says nothing. And the longer he stares, the harder Obi-Wan has to resist fidgeting on the spot.

Then, in a move so slow and obvious so as to give Obi-Wan time to stop him (as if he ever would), Qui-Gon slides a hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and gently brings Obi-Wan’s mouth to his.

The kiss is soft and chaste, a featherlight brush of lips, as if to test the waters before immersing oneself completely.

Obi-Wan doesn’t understand how he can feel so breathless from such a simple kiss, but he is when Qui-Gon pulls back to rest their foreheads together. He wraps his fingers around the wrist of Qui-Gon’s hand cupping his neck, desperately needing something to ground him.

“’The way you feel when you kiss him, for the first time. Like fire within your bones. Like your soul has returned to the water. Like every part of you that came, from a dead star, is alive again.’”

The words tickle at the back of Obi-Wan’s mind and it takes him a moment to realise it’s a poem he’d once come across while skimming through Qui-Gon’s books. He fondly shakes his head and chuckles at the ridiculous man in front of him, squeezing his wrist.

They stay in the room together, exchanging kisses in the moonlight, until Obi-Wan starts shivering from the cool night air. Qui-Gon drapes him in his robe, still warm and smelling so strongly of him that Obi-Wan doesn’t ever want to take it off, and grasps Obi-Wan’s hand to bestow a kiss upon the back of it. Obi-Wan blushes and stammers before swatting Qui-Gon away. Qui-Gon just laughs and laces their fingers together to lead them back to their room.

Together, they change for bed and slip under the covers facing each other, Obi-Wan’s hand still clasped in Qui-Gon’s larger ones. Qui-Gon presses delicate kisses to the tips of his fingers, and he blushes again but indulges Qui-Gon regardless, enjoying the mischievous twinkle in his eyes far more than the cloud of despair that had been in them earlier.

Nothing needs to be said between them, at least not right now in the tranquil quiet of the night. They will need to talk about this in the morning and what it will mean for the both of them and their duties as Jedi.

But for now, they can live in this moment where they are just two men in love with nothing tying them away from each other.

**Author's Note:**

> "The way you feel when you kiss him, for the first time. Like fire within your bones. Like your soul has returned to the water. Like every part of you that came, from a dead star, is alive again" - Nikita Gill


End file.
